Malachite

This is just from me wanting to write a story that's kind of like a folktale, but in verse.

Long, long ago, and far away! I lived my life in a great deal of pain In a castle by the blue bay Made of gleaming pyrite and green malachite That glowed even in the night.

I was born to a Mother that adored Beauty and abhorred The birthmarks that adorned my face. Reds and browns and whites Resembling a vase of clay.

She would always say If She looked upon my face She saw what could have been If I had not been. And so I hid it in a mask of porcelain.

The Queen of the land! The Woman with the world in Her hand! The Woman with the daughter Who was nothing like Her. Whose face made Her spite her.

I was smart, had read More books than She had hairs on Her head. She cared not. I could remember anything I’d seen, Everything anyone said. She cared not. She cared not about what lay beyond spots.

I slowly got older, and thus bolder. I put the mask in the cupboard Once or twice in a month’s course. Walked around the gardens, silently shouting, “This is my face! How do you like me now?” And watched as everyone ran and cowered.

The Dearest Queen, blessed is She, Took upon Herself the task of Ridding Herself of me Said “Do not fret, little pet, I will find one to marry thee,” More for Her than for me.

She cried, “Bring me one who has no fear! Who thinks they can stand the sight of her face. Bring me one who will not sneer And to my daughter I will make their case,”

A year came and went Without the appearance of the right heart. All who tried ran to hide. All who came took my Mother’s side On the issue of my marks.

On the third day of the third month of the year after that, On the third hour Appeared a tall, whimpish man in a tall hat Who looked as sick as a wet cat. Whose eyes were colored like the malachite of the walls. Who, despite his frailty, claimed some great power With some great gall.

Doesn’t that just beat it all? If you hit him with a battering ram, he claimed he would not fall! Doesn’t that just beat it all? As long as I was kind, he claimed, he could not be appalled! Doesn’t that just beat it all?

Quickly, Mother set for us to meet. Later that very day, in the garden, Did we begin to find the man rather sweet. I took off my porcelain; he took a look, And said, “Dear me, do pardon, I see no flaws on your precious head.” Mother planned for us to wed.

And in the night before that wedding date, I couldn’t sleep, walked the grounds, though it was late. And on my walk, I was surprised to find I had stumbled upon that fiancée of mine. And in his hands he did hold The throat of a bunny, dripping blood and turning to gold.

Oh lord, he did have a power, But also the demeanor of a coward. Over a harmless thing, he would tower And hurt and murder. I cared for him no further.

And when I walked down the aisle, And got to the man I did not smile. When asked if he would do Those things husbands are meant to do He said the two words I didn’t believe were true, “I do.”

Then came my turn, I looked into the malachite eyes, Saw cruelty and lies, And I felt my heart was made of stone. I felt shivers down in my bones. “I don’t.”

There was a silence, And then there was anger in my Mother and in the man, In both of them was a great violence. And then I ran! Bolted toward my room And locked the door. There was the knocking boom, I heard Her scream “Come out! You are not welcome here any more!”

From the cupboard, I pulled my porcelain out For the last time. Smashed it on the ground, “No longer will I hide behind your perfect lines.” Opened the door, and to Her face I said “I won’t be bound by your perfect lines anymore.” And then walked out the front door.

The man I was to marry, He had to be sustained By things weak and pained. And so he died, without me to marry And trap and contain.

Truly, I have learned from my time in that palace, A lesson that rules all of life: Beauty, When interpreted with malice, Becomes a lie.

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